This Life I Live
by Audi Vide Tace
Summary: Life. Love. Friends. Family. Betrayal. Bad luck. For Another Artist's A Little Is A Lot challenge.
1. Glamour Is Just A State Of Mind

**This is for Another Artist's A Little Is A Lot challenge. **

**June 6th, 2011**

Amy Cahill wasn't one for fashion. But, apparently, her mother was.

She leafed through a copy of _Glamour_- the May 2000 edition. She had found a box of old papers shoved in a closet, and was taking comfort in her mother's familiar handwriting scrawled through the pamphlets.

Simple messages like, _ugly _or _would look nice with a pencil skirt? _dotted the pages, haphazardly scribbled on the glossy pages of fashion trends past.

She sat, her back propped against the side of her bed, her cell phone vibrated- a text message from a friend at school- but she paid it no heed. She couldn't tell the difference between Burberry plaid and Prada plaid, but her mom's messages where what mattered.

She flipped the page to a spread about the new glam look (new for the turn of the century, of course). It was all classic, black and grey and navy, understated but not austere. Simple jewelry ruled, a far cry from the Lady Gaga-esque outlandishness of Amy's time.

And, right in the center of the page, was a message from her mother, written in thin black ink.

_Beautiful. I hope when Amy is old enough to care about these things, she will dress like this. _

Amy looked down. She wore jeans with holes in them, but not the fashionable holes. Holes from overuse, holes from climbing over fences and falling down. She had on a light grey t-shirt with faded red lettering on it- Boston Lifeguard Corps, it read.

She wore a thin silver ring, simple, it was true, but it wasn't as much simple as it was plain. Boring.

Amy couldn't help but feel like she'd let Hope down. She was boring, unfashionable, plain, lame old Amy Cahill. She of ratty hair and un-made-up eyes, she who felt ugly and awkward in the face of eleven-year-old Natalie Kabra.

She wasn't anything special, she was just Amy. She didn't want to see anymore intimidating fashion spreads, so she set the magazine down, and opened her cell phone.

**Amy! **The text read. **Tomorrow, let's dress like twins for school. Wear your red Boston High JV Volleyball shirt and those super cute jeans with the holes in them. **

Amy smiled. At least her friend Catie, some random nice girl from school, thought her good enough to want to dress like her.

Amy reopened the magazine again, and looked at the page again. Maybe she wasn't as high-fashion-y, perfectly made-up as the supermodels in the magazine. But, you know what, she was pretty enough, and her clothing was understated (but not austere). Understated, not intentionally, of course, but who cared?

Amy peeled off the post-it-note, stood up, and stuck it on her nightstand.

"Sharpies and sticky notes made up our last memories," she said, smiling. And, even though she hadn't fulfilled Hope's wish for her, it was still a memory, still a thread connecting her to her long-lost mother.

**Love it? Hate it? Review, please. **

**Is Hope a little OOC? I mean, we don't really know exactly what she was like. She could have been all Isabel Kabra stylish. But since Amy is the opposite of a Kabra, do you think her mother would be the same way?**

**I got the idea because, ahem, I'm reading back issues of Glamour at the moment. And somebody wrote random comments in them.**

**Also, do you think I could benefit from a beta reader?**


	2. Tiffany & Co Saves Lives

**Posted: June 8th, 2011**

"Haha," she sneered, "you're so not funny, I think I'm going to cry."

"Haha," he sneered right back at her, "you're so vapid, I think I shall kill myself."

Natalie Kabra stuck her tongue out at her older brother. Horrifically childish, it was true, but she _was _a child.

"And, dear sister of mine, it's called being sarcastic," Ian Kabra kicked his feet up on the table, and folded his arms across his chest. "Not like I would expect you to understand that."

"Oh, spare me your insufferable power-trip theatrics," Natalie said, indicating his propped-up feet. She'd learnt that the feet-resting-on-table move was an indicator of those with delusions of control. And, of course, megalomaniacs. "And tell me what you you summoned me for."

"Fine," Ian brought his feet down from the table, and pulled out a file. He opened it, and Natalie immediately burst out in laughter.

Then she silenced her giggles, and stared at him with a chilly look in her eyes. "No way. Uh-uh. Not going to happen. I'm not doing anything," she held up a hand to silence him, "_anything_, that has to do with that girl. Or her family."

"Come on, Natalie. It's not what you think. I think they're in trouble." Natalie detested the look in Ian's eyes. It was unsuitably nice and rather soft.

"Up yours!"

"There's no need to be vulgar," Ian looked annoyed, "and I'd prefer not. But, please? I'll buy you something."

"I am a lady," Natalie brought herself up to her full- yet unimpressive- height, and put an affronted look on her face. "I will not be bought."

"Not even for this?" Ian pulled a small box out of his suit pocket. A small, robin's-egg-blue box. Natalie's mouth went dry.

"What... What's in there?"

Ian opened the box, pulled out the small drawstring pouch, and held up one of the famed Tiffany & Co Key Necklaces so it caught the light.

Then, just as quickly, he dropped it back into the pouch, and stowed the box safely away into his pocket.

"You should see the look on your face," he laughed. "You're like a bird, all attracted to shiny things."

"I'll do it," Natalie decided. "Besides, I know exactly where to find her."

Ian's eyes darkened in the middle. "I didn't know she was lost."

"Oh," Natalie said in an utterly offhand manner. "She's not. But I still know where to find her."

"How can you find someone who was never lost to begin with?" he demanded.

"I happen to know where the Madrigal's are."

"You do not!"

"I do so, and, you know, where the Madrigals are, so Amy Cahill will be. It's the same principle between smoke and fire."

Ian smiled, and slid the box across the table to his sister.

Once Natalie had safely fastened it around her neck, she couldn't resist a jab at her brother. "I know you too well. You're only trying to help her out because you _li-Ike _her!"she sang.

"Maybe not, maybe so. But do you really think I'd tell you if I did?"

"Very true."

**Done. The Kabra siblings are my favorite characters to write. They play so well off each other. **

**Review, please! My grammar has flawed out a bit, I think. I'm typing this on the Pages app for iPad, so excuse any weird formatting issues. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Jamba Juice: A Love Story

**June 13****th****, 2011, Edited June 14****th****, 2011**

"Oh, my God."

"I know right? Total Adonis," Reagan leaned on the counter, retying her ponytail. "Am I sweaty?"

The twins had just gone on their morning three mile run. Reagan wore a lavender tank top and black running shorts, Madison wore a black tank top and lavender running shorts.

And this… guy… had just walked in the front door of the Jamba Juice.

"Not really. Am I?"

"Nope," Reagan shook her head. "But you should tie your shoe."

"It's fine!" She rolled her eyes.

Madison whistled under her breath when the Adonis-guy walked by. "Oh damn," then she nudged her sister in the side. "Act cool."

Reagan still wasn't sure exactly how one 'acted cool', but she assumed it involved crossing your arms, wearing sunglasses, and looking like you had friends.

Madison, who obviously thought the same thing, pulled her sunglasses on, and then started laughing. Loudly.

"Oh my God!" she tittered. "So, then, **he ignored my question and asked, "What kind of cereal do you prefer: Lucky Charms or Cocoa Puffs?** And I was like, 'oh my god, Rico, I totally don't eat cereal!"

Reagan almost choked on her Mango-A-Go-Go. Then she jabbed her sister in the side with the flat of her fingernail, and hissed, "shut up! You're such an idiot! Think of something better to discuss than _cereal_!"

But everyone in the crowded shop was staring at them. Including the very handsome guy who was in the middle of handing money over to the cashier.

Madison was silent, and her cheeks turned bright pink. But the talking resumed, slowly. Madison hurried out of the store, but right before she could push the door open, the inevitable happened.

Madison Rachel Holt, she of impeccable coordination, tripped over her untied shoelace.

Madison fell face down on the linoleum floor, and her smoothie fell with her. Over and over it spiraled in the air (Reagan watched the incident in slow motion, or at least it felt like it) until—_thump!_—it landed on her back.

Bright pink liquid oozed out. It seeped into her shirt, leached into her blonde ponytail, and, as she stood up, Reagan noticed her sister's face was speckled with little drips of Razzmatazz smoothie.

Reagan couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing, cackles that jarred her ribcage and made it painful to breathe.

The boy shot her a dirty look. Reagan, not one to take the snake eye lightly, shot one right back at him.

But the handsome boy didn't seem to notice, he was already on his way, a stack of napkins in his hand, to help Madison up and clean her off.

* * *

><p>"Haha!" Madison sneered, waving her cell phone in Reagan's face. "I got his number! He said he would text me! You're totally jealous!" she sang.<p>

"I don't get it," Reagan furrowed her forehead, perplexed. "You make the biggest fool out of yourself _ever _and you manage to get the guy? How does this work?"

"I'm the prettier twin, obviously."

"No, you're the uncoordinated and awkward twin!"

The girls argued their way home.

**505 words**

** Allow me to clear up some things:**

** When my awkward and hilarious friends want to make an impression on a guy, they talk really loudly about their 'cool' fictional) friends. Usually combined with A: fangirl squealing, or B: fangirl giggling. And their outbursts always are completely lame and just generally gauche that it never succeeds in getting attention in a positive way. I love my buddies :)**

** So yeah, Madison's outburst is based on my embarrassing friends. It didn't fit that well, I know. CC is greatly appreciated.**

** Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but we are never informed of the Holt twins' middle names? I think Madison Rachel Holt sounds lovely, though.**

** Flames, fangirling, CC, anything, is appreciated.**


	4. Crackers and Caviar

**June 20th, 2011**

Sinead Starling looked at her watch, and scowled. Two more hours until she could leave this big-happy-family reunion.

And it wasn't even the Cahill side of her family, that was what annoyed her. If it was an Ekat meeting, she could have counted on _something _interesting happening.

But _nooo_, her mom's side of the family was decidedly un-Cahill, leaving Sinead completely bored.

Ted and Ned didn't seem so despondent. Or perhaps they were, seeing that they were tussling about, play-fighting in a whirlwind of testosterone.

Sinead sank further into her chair, and scraped the frosting off a discarded piece of cake dropped in front of her. She brought the plastic fork to her mouth, then, just as quickly, put it back down. _Gross_.

She went off in search of something else to eat. Hmmm… she walked into the kitchen, and… _jackpot_. A spread of hors d'oeuvres lay on the granite counter.

Sinead picked up a plain cracker, and spread hummus on it. She laid a piece of basil on the top, placed three capers on top of the leaf, daubed jalapeno jelly on the top, and popped the whole thing in her mouth.

Then she repeated the dance—_cracker, hummus, basil, three capers, jalapeno jelly, eat_.

So… bored… Sinead had to stop herself from moaning in agony. Nothing… to… do…

Ned and Ted ran into the kitchen, and threw open the refrigerator door.

"Sinny, will you make me something to eat?" Ted yelled.

Sinead put one hand on her hip. "No. Make yourself something! Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I should cook. God."

"No," Ned agreed, "but you're a good cook, so you should."

"No."

"Please?"

Sinead blew a stream of air out of her pursed lips, then relented. "Fine."

Hmmm… she observed the spread of food in front of her.

Sinead pulled a plate off the top of the stack, and got to work. A cracker, a dab of cream cheese, and some chives… a cracker, cream cheese, and caviar… asparagus with peanut sauce…

She was on a roll now, mixing and spreading and flambéing.

Finally, she finished. And then she stepped back in shock.

She had made a _lot _of food. Wow. The entire counter was filled with it.

Sinead hoped they could eat it all, so she yelled, "Ted! Ned! Get in here!"

The two ran back in, and stopped short.

"Wow, Sinead," they said, warily.

Ted reached forward and grabbed a cracker, and pushed it into his mouth. Ned followed suit.

"Mm," he swallowed with difficulty. "Good, sis."

Neither of them reached for another, but Ned reached out and sucker-punched his brother in the arm.

"Hey!" Ted was up in a flash, chasing him off.

Sinead was about to get mad, but she just shook her head, pulled out a chair, and **wondered if they realize that all they did was run in circles all day.**

**I love the Starlings **

**Please review. Do they seem OOC?**


	5. Red Socks

**June 28****th****, 2011**

Daniel A. Cahill smacked the brim of his sister's Red Sox cap as they walked out of the stadium.

It was dusk, the Boston skyline was glowing with sunset. His team had won, all was right with the world.

Dan sidestepped a group of fans, and ran along the edge of the sidewalk, tiptoeing across the street, then waved at his older sister on the other side of the road.

"Dan!" Amy yelled.

"Hurry up!" he danced away down the street.

Dan peered in the window of a souvenir shop, his hot breath fogging up the glass. A 'number 1' foam finger; he wanted that. A Red Sox pin; he wanted that.

"Amy," he said in his I'm-a-good-little-boy voice, "can we please go in."

Amy shook her head. "We have to get home. Nellie'll be wondering where we are."

"Please?"

"Sorry, but no."

Dan rolled his eyes, and started running again, flying down the street, yelling 'excuse me!' at people stupid enough to get in his way.

He paused briefly at a stop light, waited for it to turn green and sprinted across the crosswalk, and into a little park, where he slurped some water from a drinking fountain, tied his shoe, and waited for Amy-the-slowpoke to catch up.

"Stop," pant pant pant, "running," gasp gasp gasp, "so" wheeze wheeze wheeze, "fast."

"Oops," Dan smiled wickedly, and dashed away from his sister, cutting across the brilliant green lawn.

Amy was in hot pursuit, her fingertips centimeters away from grabbing the back of  
>Dan's shirt.<p>

Dan jumped over a big boulder, but Amy wasn't so lucky. The tip of her Converse tennis shoe caught on the rock, and down she went, sprawling across the grass.

She clutched her ankle, and wailed in pain. "Ow, ow owwwww!"

Dan knelt beside her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Dan, I'm totally fine," Amy said through gritted teeth.

"Well, you're okay enough to be sarcastic," he stretched out on the grass beside her.

His pant leg raised up a bit, and Amy said, "nice socks."

They were livid red.

"Yeah, they're my lucky socks. Probably the only reason we won today."

"Dan, do you really think that if some little dweeb wears red socks, the Red Sox are automatically going to win?" she propped herself up on her elbows. "You're such a loser."

**"I may be a loser, but I feel like a winner!"** he crowed, got up, and began jogging in place.

Amy got up, grudgingly, and chased him all the way back to their apartment.

** A/N. Hmm, I actually sort of like this one. I wrote it in literally ten minutes and edited it in five, so it's probably not so good, though. Please review **


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